In This Country Anyone Can Grow Up To Be The Worst He Or She Can Be

In my nearly 76 years of drinking and drugging heavily in a futile attempt to determine what’s so fucking great about sobriety, one thing has stood out in examining the hopes and dreams of too many of my fellow citizens in this nation of miserable fucks is that there is no bottom to the violent antipathy supply-side plantation owners hold for the people who sell their brooms and mops.

No matter how bad things have gotten during my ludicrous lifetime devoted to exploring the negative capability that apparently made Romanticism so fucking great that not even reason could negate its innate stupidity, I’ve always been comforted by the realization that things are designed to get even worse.

I have no problem virtually dancing during our current extinction swinging soiree. I wouldn't be caught dead dancing with any of you.